Magic So Ancient
by auri mynonys
Summary: When a wizarding student summons the ghost of Jonathan Teatime, the former assassin sets about regaining a corporeal form and getting revenge on the woman who murdered him – Susan Sto Helit. SusanxTeatime fic
1. A Curious Wizard and A Cheating Marble

**A/N: First Discworld fic! And, true to my style, I'm going for a villain/heroine pairing. Yes, that's right - another dreaded Teatime/Susan fic. I'm sorry, I can't help how dearly I love it. Anyways. I love all comments and critiques! Hope you like the story. Enjoy! :)**

**DISCLAIMER: Susan, Teatime, and the incredibly awesome Discworld belong to Terry Pratchett and not me. I do not contain one-fifth of Terry Pratchett's brilliance, and I mean no harm or offense to his works. I make no money off this fic – it just brings joy to my soul.**

CHAPTER 1

Ibycus Shandry liked libraries.

Stating that is somewhat akin to saying that heat is hot, or that wood comes from trees, or that puce is the ugliest name one could ever give a color. Ibycus Shandry had, in fact, been born in a library, to a librarian and his wife, who repaired books. Both the librarian and his wife liked to write in their spare time, but they didn't have much of that – what with the librarian being the father of eight very rambunctious (though studious) sons.

So Ibycus Shandry had essentially been destined to like books. He could, of course, have chosen to loathe them, but that would most likely have caused him either to run away at a young age, or simply die from an overload of hatred. Rather than go to all that bother, Ibycus gave in and loved books and libraries with all the affection he had in his being. He knew how to make books, how to repair them, how to keep them clean and perfect, and where exactly they went on each library shelf. He also knew how to read, which was something that most other people on the Disc could not actually do.

Thus it would have been no surprise to anyone whom he had known in the past (or anyone who knew him now, for that matter) to find him seated at a table in the middle of the Unseen University's library. Granted, it was the single most dangerous library in all of the Disc, but that didn't seem to bother Ibycus much. He had gravitated towards the library like a moth to a candle flame the moment he had arrived at the Unseen University, and it was rare to find him outside its physics-defying walls when classes were not in session.

Ibycus had been destined for the Unseen University from the moment he was born, as he was the eighth son of an eighth son and had, as dictated by ceremony, been given the power and staff of an older, dying wizard. They'd sent him off to the University when he had reached the preteen years, and he'd settled in quite happily there almost at once. He didn't necessarily excel at all his classes, but he certainly wasn't failing either. In fact, the only thing that made him stand out in any particular way – besides his apparent obsession with reading, of course – was his curiosity.

Now, all wizards are curious by nature. They like playing with magic, seeing what their powers can do and in what ways they can alter the world. But Ibycus Shandry's curiosity went far beyond that. In the wizarding world, he was comparable to a certain little monkey well beloved in Earth children's literature (except that his name wasn't George, and he wasn't a primate, and he hadn't been brought to Ankh-Morpork by a man in a yellow hat.) Whenever he got any sort of idea into his head he would, without thinking, set about experimenting to find out what the result of said idea might be.

Ibycus was looking for a spell to assist him with just such an idea at exactly that moment, flipping through a thick volume of spells titled "_Thee Symmonyng of Spyryts._" It had taken him a bit to subdue the work, which, due to its magical nature, was quite capable of biting his hand off or sending the spells contained within it leaping into his brain, but now that he had it firmly held down with some chains and its rustling growl was no more than the occasional angry shuffle of feathery pages, he was reading in earnest.

Ibycus had, foolishly, wandered out into the streets of Ankh-Morpork earlier that day without any friends to travel with him. He'd been rather lost in thought, and thus had wandered out of the bounds of the Unseen University and into the midst of Ankh-Morpork's filthy, crime-ridden streets without even noticing where he was going. At some point or other he had gotten the vague notion that he was being followed, and had glanced over his shoulder in time to note the several shadowy figures stalking after him and cackling quietly to themselves.

It had occurred to him at that point that it might be handy to have a bodyguard of some sort that followed him around at all times, to protect against just these sorts of situations. He'd wondered how he would go about finding such a bodyguard, and if it was possible to bend a dead spirit to his will, and if so what sort of dead spirit he should summon.

Somehow it hadn't occurred to him to wonder if he was going to become one such dead spirit himself.

And miraculously, his apparent lack of fear had helped him to avoid what otherwise would have meant almost certain death. His strangely confident air had caused the three thugs behind him to stop and argue amongst themselves about the danger of the particular target they'd chosen – which had given him plenty of time to slip off quietly and unnoticed, back towards the Unseen University and into the relative safety of its walls.

So he'd found himself back in the Library, searching for books on the summoning of spirits and doing the equivalent of comparison-shopping amongst the different types of spirits that he could summon. He could summon various sorts of demons, but the mere thought of such monsters made him cringe. Different books also suggested ways to summon incubi and succubae, but that hardly seemed a solution to the dilemma he had posed. The book he was currently reading, however, suggested spells for summoning formerly human spirits – and it had different spells for individual types of humans.

It was a more recent work, as far as Ibycus could determine – he was uncertain of its author, but it seemed to be an experimental line of spells. He didn't think he'd ever heard of anybody setting down spells for bringing back specific types of people from the world beyond, but, he reflected, it really was a pretty brilliant idea. There was a spell for summoning former cooks, and one for thieves, and one for lords and ladies, and even one for summoning the spirits of whores. (This page, Ibycus noted, was rather dog-eared, and had apparently been used before by other students.)

The spell at which he was currently looking was one regarding the summoning of assassins.

Ibycus liked the idea of having his own ghostly assassin. Assassins were feared even by the nastiest of Ankh-Morpork's criminals, and they had class to boot. They were well trained but aristocratic in nature; he could expect a good product if he summoned an assassin to follow him wherever he went. And, naturally, by summoning said assassin, he would be master of the ghostly creature. At least, he assumed that was the case. It only made sense to him, after all – if he brought the person back, then they surely would be bound to obey him.

His eyes flickered over the dancing magical characters on the page. They were particularly nasty little letters, flicking to and fro across the paper and swirling in an ugly manner before his slightly bewildered gaze. He was used to fighting with magical script, however, and he soon had the spell under his control. With great care, he bent over the page and began to whisper the words, his lips spewing perfectly formed syllables across the page.

The spell began to glow and spin.

Excitedly, Ibycus began to mumble faster, rushing over the words and feeling the air sizzle around him, inhaling the metallic scent of magic at work as the atmosphere crackled. The spell's preface stated that it would summon the most recently deceased assassin for his service, one that still had a strong recollection of his human form. Ibycus wasn't sure which assassin had died most recently, but it didn't matter much to him; they were all equally high class, weren't they?

He said the last word of the spell with a satisfied air and watched as the book shivered, shook, and finally settled back onto the table. Smiling in approval, Ibycus started to turn around to look at his new protector, but before he could, two hands closed very firmly around his neck and began to strangle him.

"Hello!" a voice said brightly in his ear. "My name's Jonathan Teh-ah-tim-eh. What's yours?"

* * *

Gawain and Twyla were playing with the marbles again.

This, in and of itself, should not have been particularly disturbing to Susan Sto Helit, governess, duchess, and granddaughter of Death. For one thing, the marbles kept them wonderfully distracted and prevented them from getting into any other sorts of mischief, which was a welcome relief for her. But it wasn't the game in and of itself that was irritating Susan – it was Gawain's favorite marble, that shiny gray-black glass orb, that was grating on her nerves and keeping her from enjoying the book she was desperately trying to read.

The marble, of course, was not a marble at all, but a glass eye of unknown power that had formerly been the property of Mr. Jonathan Teatime, an assassin with the mannerisms of a small boy and a mind like a corkscrew. And, disturbingly, that eyeball followed Susan everywhere.

At first she had tried valiantly to convince herself that it was just her imagination, or that she was just paranoid. But it had been a week since Hogswatch, and there really was no denying the fact that the eye was following her wherever she went. The first night, it had mysteriously managed to roll all the way from the children's room into Susan's room, even though the children's room was quite a distance from where she slept. Then it had found its way down the stairs to sit by her foot at the kitchen table the next morning. And somehow it had discovered Susan's favorite place to read and had sat just beside her while she flipped through one of the Gaiters' books. Most of the time its presence was so unobtrusive that she didn't notice it until she got up to leave the room. Even now, when she was on the lookout for the damn thing, she usually couldn't spot it until she was changing locations in the house.

Susan was very, very sure that Teatime, even dead, was watching her.

Fortunately, his eyeball was currently rather occupied with winning the game of marbles instead of spying on her. Unfortunately, she couldn't really leave the children by themselves for the time being, so the eye was still in her vicinity. She was so vexed by its presence that she had read the first sentence of her book exactly forty-seven times now and hadn't managed to get any further.

She reread the first sentence again, heaved a sigh, and glanced reluctantly back at the game of marbles. The eyeball rolled, spun, and knocked into Twyla's marbles with perfect precision. It was impressive, really, the accuracy with which the eye shot across the circle. It was obviously not Gawain's finesse that was winning the game, but the marble itself.

Twyla was no fool; she knew her brother's skill level with marbles, and she knew he hadn't been able to win like this before he got his new marble at Hogswatch. "You're cheating!" she exclaimed, leaping to her feet and pointing an outraged finger at her younger brother.

Gawain stuck his tongue out at her. "Am not!" he retorted, blowing a raspberry in her direction.

"Are too!" Twyla snapped, reaching down to shove Gawain on the shoulder. "It's that stupid marble – it helps you cheat!"

"It doesn't!" Gawain exclaimed. "It's just lucky!"

"It's a _cheating_ marble!" Twyla cried in outrage.

"Isn't!" Gawain retorted.

Twyla turned to Susan. "Susan, he's got a cheating marble!" she said in a tone of injured pride.

Susan heaved a sigh and slammed her book closed. "Give it here, then," she said, reluctantly holding out a hand.

"Susan!" Gawain whined.

"Gawain, what have I told you about whining?" Susan asked, looking severely at him.

He pouted. "Whining is an irritating habit for silly kiddies," he muttered.

"Right," Susan said. "And we all know very well that you're _not_ a silly little kiddy." _In fact you'd probably throw a rock at anyone who thought to call you a silly little kiddy, _Susan thought, a trace of a smile flickering across her face and disappearing just as quickly. "Now, give me the marble."

Gawain sniffed. "Fine," he sulked, turning back towards the marble pile.

For a second there was dead silence. Then, Gawain turned to glare at Twyla and snapped, "Where is it, Twyla? Give it _back!_"

Twyla looked affronted. "_I_ don't have your stupid cheating marble," she said.

"You've got it!" Gawain yelled angrily, jumping to his feet and tackling her. "Give it back!"

"Twyla! Gawain!" Susan said sharply, but it was too late; they were rolling on the floor in the midst of a mighty row. Susan groaned, but stood by and watched them tussle for a few minutes before both of them finally gave up and stepped away, nursing bruises and a few small cuts. "Feel better now?" Susan asked scathingly.

They glared at each other.

Susan shook her head in irritation. "Twyla, do you have Gawain's marble?" she asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

"No!" Twyla exclaimed angrily.

Susan felt a vague sense of dread. "All right, then," she said resignedly. "Let's go looking for it. Look under all the furniture in this room, and I'll check and see if it rolled out into the hall."

"Don't you think we would have heard it?" Gawain asked.

"I doubt it," Susan said in a disgruntled voice as she headed for the door.

Almost as soon as she walked out the door, the children began arguing about which areas they were going to search and whether or not the marble was actually a cheating marble. It was a quieter argument, but Susan still understood its gist. Distracted as she was, she didn't bother to listen much longer; she was going to find that marble, and sod all the rest to hell.

"Where have you gone, you bloody bastard?" she hissed under her breath as she scanned the hall floor. She got down on her hands and knees and felt along the edges of the hall wall, but there was nothing to be found there. Frustration boiled over as she continued searching through the next few rooms, spinning around occasionally to see if it was following her. "Come _out_, damn it," she snarled to the silent air.

That was when she heard something rolling across the floor.

She turned sharply and spotted the glass eye as it rolled out through the door towards the foyer. "Oh, no you don't," she said ominously, gathering her skirts in her hands and running after it.

Ignoring her protest, it sailed smoothly across the floor, somehow keeping just ahead of Susan's long strides. She noticed, with considerable irritation, that one of the other servants had left the door propped open a little despite the chilliness of the season. The eyeball made for the opening of the door, sliding through the crack and out onto the stoop. Susan hurled open the door and bent down to grab the smooth dark orb as it paused in the snow –

And felt someone else's very, very cold fingers cover hers.

Susan looked up sharply and found herself staring into the equally surprised face of the ghostly Mr. Teatime. His eye widened momentarily in astonishment, and then his whole face smiled, a terrifying happy smile that made Susan flinch away.

"_No_," she said flatly. "No, you're _not_ here again. You wouldn't dare."

His lips pulled back over his dazzlingly white teeth, and she caught the brief flash of his hand as it started to move towards her –

"Susan?"

Susan jumped and spun around to face Gawain and Twyla, who were standing in the door and staring at her in confusion. "What're you doing out there?" Twyla asked, her face suggesting that she felt Susan had perhaps gone a bit insane.

"I -!" Susan turned sharply, but there was no one standing behind her – no sign of Teatime, ghost or no, anywhere. "I… I found your marble," she said weakly, holding out the eyeball to show them.

Gawain looked incredulous. "Out _here_?" he said. "How could it get out here?"

"It's a cheating marble," Twyla said in smug satisfaction. "That's the only explanation."

"Yes, well, I'm going to throw it out," Susan said fervently, pushing her way past them into the house.

"Aww, but Susan -!" Gawain protested.

"No, Gawain," Susan said sharply. "It's more trouble than it's worth. Now, go back to school room; I'll be with you in a minute."

The children shuffled ahead, Twyla smirking and Gawain sulking. Susan waited until they had gone, and then slumped against the wall, momentarily allowing her brief panic to flow through her and settle.

He had been there. He bloody well had _been_ there, just outside. He had _touched_ her. His hand – he'd tried to grab for her. Or stab her. He had touched her hand, the monster who had nearly – no. No, she wasn't going to think about it anymore.

And anyways, she had something he obviously wanted. She had his eye, and she was going to destroy it that night.

And if his ghost protested… well, she still had the poker.


	2. A Friendship Forged, An Eyeball Stolen

**A/N: Soooo... yes. It's been, what, three years since I updated this fic? I fully acknowledge that I am a bad person. I've actually had most of this chapter written for years now, but I convinced myself it was awful and couldn't bring myself to look at it. And then I went and reread it and realized, "Whoa! This actually is not that bad! Awesome!" So I've finally finished it, and polished it, and started on Chapter 3. I don't know why, but my Susan/Teatime obsession appears to be reemerging full force. I'm planning to work straight through this one as much as I can, but we'll see what happens. Thanks so much for your patience. Also: there's a Doctor Who reference in this chapter. I expect a number of you will catch it immediately. I hope you enjoy the new chapter!**

**Disclaimer: Discworld, Susan, and Teatime are not my creation; they belong to Sir Terry Pratchett, who is a flawless human being and a wonderful writer. I make no money from this story; I'm writing and posting only for fun.**

* * *

CHAPTER 2

* * *

Ibycus groaned, coughed, and rolled out of his bed, hitting the floor with a loud _whump._ And then he groaned again.

He felt as though he'd attempted to swallow a watermelon whole. And now that he'd accidentally rolled out of bed he was cold and bruised as well. The day had barely begun, and it was already bad.

He sat up and rubbed his head, wincing. He'd have to find some sort of potion or something to help his throat. He couldn't go through classes feeling like this. He wasn't sure how much time he had before he needed to go, but he'd never had trouble getting out of bed in a timely manner. Surely he could go to the library and find something before…

He rubbed his eyes and opened them, looking around in bewilderment. He wasn't in his room – in fact he wasn't entirely sure where he was. Even more concerning: it was nighttime, and not the morning as he'd thought.

Slowly he got to his feet, looking around the room with nervous eyes. Something was very wrong here. What had he been doing earlier that day? Surely he hadn't been drinking… no, he'd been studying. He was certain of that. But _what_ had be been studying? He couldn't quite recall…

He turned and met the eye of the ghost he had summoned, and very suddenly remembered.

"Agh!" He gave a cry of horror and leaped back, pressing himself against the wall. "Who are you? Why did you bring me here? Please don't kill me! I don't want to die!"

The ghost smiled amiably. Well, amiably was perhaps not the correct adjective. The smile might have been amiable on anyone else, but on the ghost it was positively maniacal. "I didn't particularly want to die either," the ghost confided. "But Death had other ideas." He took a few small steps towards Ibycus, and Ibycus attempted, desperately, to sink into the wall. He failed.

"But… but… you tried to kill me!" His voice was accusatory.

The ghost blinked innocuously. "You startled me," he said, tone rebuking. "It isn't a good idea to startle me. I can be very… unpredictable."

Ibycus shivered. "I… well… sorry," he said, feeling very sorry indeed. "I didn't mean to disturb you, really. I'll just send you right back and –!"

In a flash the ghost was across the room, a hand pressed once again to Ibycus's throat. "I don't think so," the ghost told him, smiling widely. "I'm very glad you brought me back here. There were so very many things I had left to do. And now that you've summoned me, I think I'd like to finish them."

Ibycus avoided staring into the ghost's empty eye socket. "Oh… well… you see I think maybe this is all a very big misunderstanding… I…" He trailed off as the ghost smiled even wider. "I… suppose… I could… help…" he said finally, reluctantly. "But only a little. You see, I summoned you because –!"

"Shhhh," the ghost said, pressing a finger to his lips. "Never mind that. We're playing _my_ game now… yes?"

Ibycus swallowed loudly. "Yes," he whispered.

The ghost giggled. "Good." He stepped away from Ibycus, and the wizard breathed a sigh of relief. "Now… what is your name, wizard?"

"Uh… Ibycus," Ibycus said, looking around for his hat. "Ibycus Shandry."

"Ibycus Shandry," the ghost repeated thoughtfully. "Very nice to meet you, sir. I am sure we'll be great friends."

"I certainly hope so," Ibycus said fervently. "And… uh… I didn't catch your name."

"Teh-ah-tim-eh," the ghost said. "Jonathan Teh-ah-tim-eh. I'm an assassin."

"Yes, I know," Ibycus said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "That's why I called you, actually."

Teatime arched a brow. "Do you need someone… inhumed?" he inquired. "I'm very good at it. I inhume with great... elegance."

Ibycus forced himself not to think of all the painful ways in which the ghost might kill him. "Oh, well, it's really nothing like that – "

Teatime looked politely perplexed. "Why else would you summon an assassin?" he asked.

"Well… there were these men, you see," Ibycus began to explain. "And they were bad men, following me…"

"And you wanted someone to get them out of your way?" Teatime offered.

"Well… I wanted some protection, at least," Ibycus said. "A, uh, a sort of bodyguard, if you will."

There was deadly silence. Ibycus swallowed again. That could only be a bad sign. "It's just, see, I thought with an assassin on my side, that such men might, er, leave me be… when I go out…"

Teatime was staring at him. It wasn't precisely a glare, but it was a look cold enough to chill the marrow in Ibycus's bones. "A bodyguard," he repeated, with such disdain that Ibycus felt as though he were shrinking.

"Well… yes." He shrugged helplessly. "Perhaps it was a stupid idea…"

"It was," Teatime confirmed. "And so we won't pay it any mind. Leave the ideas to me, if you please."

"Y-yes sir," Ibycus muttered, staring at his feet.

Teatime smiled again. Ibycus couldn't decide which was worse – the smile or the frown. "Enough about your troubles," the ghost said brightly. "I, as you can see, am missing an eye, and we are going to get it back."

Ibycus looked perplexed. "Err… but… how?"

Teatime glanced askew at him. "Well, obviously, we retrieve it," he said irritably.

"Right, of course," Ibycus said. "But… it's just that… well… when one loses an eye, it… well, doesn't it… _stay _gone?"

Teatime didn't bother to look at him this time. He was studying some peculiar wizarding instrument set up on a table in the corner. "Not my eye," he said. "What's this?"

"It's… it's a… a wibbly-wobbly… timey-wimey device… er… thing. Goes ding… when there's stuff." Ibycus waved a hand. "But surely your eyeball's been gone ages. Hasn't it… well, hasn't it decomposed? Or been eaten?"

Teatime poked the device. It dinged. "Haha!" he giggled.

Ibycus shifted uncomfortably. "I might not do that, if I were you… it might blow…"

Teatime poked it again. It dinged once more. It was the same ding as before, and it showed no signs of exploding. Apparently disappointed, Teatime stepped away. "My eye is special," he revealed, grinning maniacally. "And Susan has it, so we must get it back."

"Well, unless you had a glass eye I can't see how – wait. Someone is keeping your _eye?_" Ibycus stared at him incredulously.

"Yes and no." Teatime bounced on the balls of his feet, not precisely eager, but stir-crazy, perhaps. There was too much energy in him, and he had things that needed doing. "It is in her house, and no doubt in her possession as we speak; but I think it's more that it's following her."

"Ah," Ibycus said faintly, and decided resolutely that he didn't want to ask.

"I tried to get it back while you were off in a swoon, but she got in the way," Teatime said. "But I know for certain she has it now, so retrieving it ought to be simple."

"No doubt," Ibycus said. He coughed. "Also, I don't swoon."

"No?" Teatime smiled broadly. "What was that then?"

"Errr... a brief... but very important nap!" said Ibycus desperately. "Yes. I like naps! Naps are good."

Teatime was no longer smiling. He turned away. "You'll have to help."

Ibycus blinked. "Er… what? With the eye? But… I…"

"Ibycus." Teatime turned to look at him, his boyish face earnest. Well, earnest for him. "Are we friends?"

"Well… we did only just meet," Ibycus pointed out.

"Because if we aren't friends," Teatime continued, "I'm afraid I'll have to kill you."

Ibycus stared. "You – oh, dear…"

"But if we are friends, you've no need to worry," Teatime promised. "So?"

"Oh, we're great friends," Ibycus hurriedly assured him. "Been bosom pals for ages."

"Bosom pals," Teatime repeated thoughtfully. "Hmm. I like that." He turned his one eye to stare keenly at Ibycus. "And since we're such great pals," he said, "You'll surely want to help me with this one little bitty thing… won't you?"

"I… well… I suppose," Ibycus said, giving up.

Teatime brightened. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Then we'll start at once."

"But… but it's late," Ibycus protested. "What about sleep?"

Teatime arched a brow. "You will sleep… eventually," he promised. "First, you help me. Yes?"

Ibycus heaved a sigh. "Yes," he said.

Teatime turned away. "Good," he said. "That's what friends are for, you know."

* * *

The eye was trapped safely in Susan's pocket. It had been there all day, successfully making her both shrewish and paranoid. The children had gotten so tired of her that they'd gone off to their room to play rather than be around her, and she'd been left alone with the damn eye in her pocket, trying once again to read her book.

The count of how many times she'd read the first sentence now: one hundred fifteen.

Finally Susan gave up, snapping the book shut and tossing it onto her nightstand. There wasn't any point in attempting it while the eye was with her. It was far past time to get it – and hopefully its owner – out of her life forever.

She removed the eye from her pocket and set it on her pillow. "I'm watching you," she warned. She glared at it, but that seemed to have no effect. In fact, the eye didn't really seem, at the moment, to be much more than a glossy black marble.

It was a cheating marble, she reminded herself. She couldn't trust it.

She took a few steps backward, keeping her eyes firmly planted on the obsidian orb. _Get your cloak,_ she told herself. _Get your cloak as fast as you can, and get rid of that thing._

She observed, as she continued moving backwards, that for once the eye didn't feel like it was staring at her. It still seemed like a normal marble, which was very peculiar. She'd never once had the sense that the eye wasn't looking at her.

And then she realized, with a slow chill, that she didn't feel like the eye was looking at her because somebody else was.

She whirled around and found herself once again face to face with Jonathan Teatime.

"You!" she sputtered, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

"You!" he replied, doing the same. He dropped his finger and giggled. The sound grated on Susan's nerves.

"What are you doing here?" she spat. "Haven't gotten enough of the poker? I promise there's more where it came from."

"No doubt, though I can't see it doing much good," Teatime said. "I am, after all, dead."

"I'm sure I can find a way to kill you again," Susan growled. "There must be a way somewhere…"

"It would take you too long to find it," Teatime pointed out calmly. "And at any rate, I believe you have something that belongs to me."

"Oh, that's original," Susan sneered. "Trying that menacing/seductive tone. Who taught you to use that voice, anyway?"

"It's my own, thanks very much," Teatime said, sounding a bit put out. "And you _do_ have something that belongs to me. I'd like it back."

"Why? Haven't got much use for it now, have you?" Susan snapped, taking a step back. "Go away."

"Don't you want someone to take it off your hands?" he asked. "Hasn't it been annoying you, Miss Susan, following you around like that?"

"Well, yes, but – wait. You _have_ been telling it what to do from the afterlife, haven't you?" Susan accused.

He grinned. "Not directly. In my absence it did what it thought necessary."

Susan crossed her arms over her chest. "How is following me around necessary?"

"Someone needed to keep an eye on my murderer. Murderess, in this case." He bowed mockingly to her, with the appropriate flourish of the hand. The Assassins' Guild _had_ taught him manners; he just chose to ignore them most of the time. "And may I applaud the originality with which you killed me, Miss Susan. It had a certain… elegance about it." He peeked up at her from his bow and grinned. "You'd make a wonderful assassin."

"I'm _this close_ to assassinating _you_," Susan warned. "_This close._"

"Dead," Teatime reminded her cheerfully.

Susan clenched her teeth. "What are you going to use the eye for?" she asked.

"To see," Teatime said, pointing to his empty eye socket. "What else?"

"That," Susan said, pointing behind her, "Is no ordinary eye, and you know it. I'm not handing you potentially lethal magic to use against whomever you choose."

Teatime looked put out. "It won't harm anybody," he said. "It's not _that_ talented."

"It must be able to do something extraordinary," Susan said stubbornly. "Otherwise you wouldn't want it so much."

He smiled at her, a wide smile that made her want to turn tail and run. "It's mine. I want it back."

Susan stared hard at him. "That simple?"

"That simple."

Susan frowned. "I still don't trust you."

"That's unfortunate," Teatime said. "I'd hoped we could be friends."

Susan stared a few seconds, then laughed. It was a half-hysterical laugh, but laughter nonetheless. "Friends?" she repeated. "You want to be friends with your murderess?" She cast him a disparaging look. "Do you really think that's a good idea, Teatime?" She deliberately mispronounced his name, and reveled in the way he glared. "Because I can assure you that if you stay in this house one second longer, I will take over my grandfather's duty for a few moments and send you back to the spiraling pit of hell in which you belong."

Teatime only smiled. "I wasn't in hell, Miss Susan," he said. "I was in a large white room all by myself with a lot of knives. Plenty of planning space. I made some elaborate plans for how to take revenge on you, for one."

Susan forced herself not to shudder. "I'm not afraid of you," she said disdainfully.

"And I'm not afraid of you," Teatime replied. "We make quite a pair."

"We are not a pair, Teatime!"

He smiled at the vehemence in her tone. "It's Teh-ah-tim-eh, if you please. Or Jonathan if you _really_ please."

She flinched. "Jonathan is a bit too intimate for my tastes, thank you."

"You killed me. You're entitled to some intimacy."

She laughed bitterly. "Only you would think so," she said.

"Oh?" Teatime took a step towards her. "What's more intimate than witnessing the last moments of a person's life – twice? Don't they say you learn all you need to know about a person when you watch them die?"  
"I don't know who 'they' are," Susan snapped, "But whatever I learned about you when I saw you die didn't give me any desire for a closer relationship with you."  
"And yet." Here Teatime evaporated, then reappeared behind her, his eye now in his hand. Susan inhaled sharply. He turned to her, grinning madly, and waved the eye at her. Now, without question, she could feel both of them staring.

"And yet," Teatime repeated, "You kept this. Why?"  
Susan swallowed. "It... the children wanted it."

Teatime tsked. "Bad governess," he said, "Letting the poor little kiddies play with something so dangerous. You can't have _really_ thought that was a good idea, being such a _good _baby sitter – inner or otherwise."

Susan gritted her teeth. The comment reminded her, more than she cared to admit, that she and Teatime had a history, however brief – and he was surely not going to forget it. And neither would she – he would never let her. "It never showed signs of harming them," she said. "They're smart children. You don't understand children, or you'd never condescend to them like that. Give it _back._"

"Smart or not," Teatime said, bouncing the eye in the palm of his hand, "You'd never willingly put them in danger. You didn't keep it for them."

"I can't just take things away without explanation," Susan snapped. The eye bounced, and she twitched as she watched it, wanting more than anything to snatch it back.  
"Sure you could," Teatime replied, grinning. "The kiddies would soon forget."

Susan swallowed again, loudly enough that Teatime smirked upon hearing it. Susan ground her teeth harder. "It would have come back and followed me," she said.

"Perhaps." Teatime looked away from her, examining the eye. In a flash, Susan leaped forward, hand outstretched to grab the eye. Instead, she slammed hard into the wall, Teatime gone and the eye out of her reach.

"Ah, ah, ah," Teatime said, shaking a finger. "Naughty Susan. You won't be getting it back now that you've lost it."

Susan straightened, brushing her skirt and lifting her chin. Dignity, she reminded herself. She needed dignity more than she needed anything in this moment. Well, dignity, and some kind of ghost-killing weapon. If only the poker would work a second time... "Then how will you watch me?" she asked, her tone mocking. "Isn't that what you want... or are you going to kill me now?"

"Kill you?" Teatime's eyes widened with boyish innocence. He pressed his free hand to his chest, a gesture of shock and wounded pride. "Susan! My murderous Susan... how could I kill you?" A smile crossed his face, huge and genuine and horrible. "I haven't yet had time to _play_ with you."

Susan's hand began to grope for the poker, quite of its own accord, as the rest of her made some kind of attempt to shimmy through the wall and out onto the street – anywhere to get away from that awful smile. "I don't know what that means," Susan said, voice quivering, "But if you even _try _to 'play with me,' I'll hurt your immortal soul in ways you can't even begin to comprehend."

The grin did not falter. "Oh, Susan," Teatime said. "I look forward to it."  
When Susan blinked, he disappeared. For a moment, she thought he would surely pop out of the wall right behind her, or play some other ghostly trick; but he was nowhere to be found, nor did she have the sense that anyone was watching her. The room, for the moment, felt completely deserted.

Susan's body attempted to sag in relief; but Susan's will would not let it. Adrenaline pumping wildly through her veins, she dove for the door and flung it open, hurtling down the hall at top speed. She needed a weapon. She needed a shield. She needed a new skin, one that maybe would stop crawling so much at the mere thought of Teatime.

She slowed her pace when she reached the bottom of the stairs, breathing heavily. Nothing, she reflected, had ever had this kind of effect on her – not monsters under the bed, not any of the creatures living in Ankh-Morpork, not patricians or thieves or even the Shades, and certainly not even Death himself. It was ridiculous that one assassin, one single, lowly assassin, could make her run like this simply by appearing.

"I killed you," she said aloud to the still air of the corridor. "I killed you _twice._ You can't hurt me."  
Nodding, briefly and fiercely, she turned and flung open the door to the kitchen; then and promptly yelped and leaped back when the open door revealed Teatime, standing in the door and grinning.

"I forgot to say goodnight," he said. "That was very uncouth of me. My apologies. Also, I thought you might want this."

He flicked his wrist, and the poker sprang up from seemingly nowhere and sailed towards her. Susan barely caught it in time. As soon as it hit her palm, Susan lifted it high above her head, a snarl twisting her features. "I'm going to kill you," she said firmly. "Right now. For the third time. And you're going to stay dead."

"That's not very nice," Teatime said, eyes wide and wounded.

Susan thrust the poker at him.

Too late; he had disappeared and reappeared already, several feet out of her reach. "Goodnight!" he chirped, and disappeared again, this time, it seemed, for good.

Or at least until he decided to come back to _play_. Whatever _that_ meant.


End file.
